


in your own shadows

by aryelee



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Gen, it's really just peter remembering and being sad idk what else to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23906911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryelee/pseuds/aryelee
Summary: In another life, Peter was High King of Narnia.In another life, Peter protected his siblings as London was bombed.In another life, Peter grew up twice.In this life, Peter remembers.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	in your own shadows

**Author's Note:**

> written for an exchange! prompt was either modern au or write about the battle of ettinsmoor and i kinda combined them while making peter sad bc i always make him sad.
> 
> this is kinda experimental bc ive never written reincarnation before and i wanted to make this kinda idk jagged? bc of the memories. if that makes any sense lol.

Peter doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, despite having spent his entire life in this world. He’s born and raised in London, never left it unless it was for a vacation or some sort of trip. This is the only world he’s ever known, and yet--

_(a golden lion roars. the sky behind it is so, so blue.)_

  
  
  
  


There’s no defining moment that made him realize; he was always a little out of place, a little odd. His parents call him an old soul, and while they are right, he doesn’t enjoy having a mind and soul too old for his body. A _third_ time, at that. 

He remembers a crown on his head, a sword in his hand, the lives of many relying on him--

Peter is an older brother to his core. This will never change. Not during the war, not in Narnia, not even now. 

But he was once High King. To live in this world, where he is just another face in the crowd, helpless to the growing despair in the world as humanity free-falls into a bad end, is devastating. 

Peter remembers a time he lead armies against evil, protected his people, hurried his siblings into bomb shelters; he was born to help others. So he may not be High King, may not be able to win battles and carry people through war, but he is still Peter Pevensie, so he keeps quiet and keeps an eye out for the ones who need his help most.

These may not be his people, but a king is more than a crown.

  
  
  
  


On the quietest nights, Peter will dream of war.

The clash of swords ring in his ears and the battle cries of soldiers surrounds him. Peter holds a sword, standing over a body; he cannot tell if they were friend or foe. 

The White Witch screams and Aslan never roars and

_Edmund._

  
  
  


His brother isn’t as much of a brat in this life. Peter misses it. 

Edmund is quiet from the beginning, never crying over scraped knees or bruises. He is quiet and careful and every bit the spy he was in Narnia. There are times when he stands in the shadows of the school and Peter will see a sword on his waist, memory overlaid reality, and the fear that strikes him is paralyzing. 

The White Witch demands the blood of a traitor in his memories, and Peter desperately wishes to hold a sword that doesn’t exist and save his baby brother from dying at her hands in this life--

Edmund steps out of the shadows and it’s easier to breathe, but Peter thinks he will always be haunted by Edmund’s blood on his hands. 

_(he gasps when he comes back to life, and though peter holds him close, he cannot feel edmund’s heart beat. only his own.)_

  
  
  


When he was young, Peter would wake up in closets and wardrobes. His sleepwalking is a running joke in the family, but the concern in his parent’s eyes never fades away.

It still feels so intangible, like a dream just out of reach. His parents are here, never called away to war or forced to send him off to care for his siblings in a stranger’s home, in a strange land. He remembers how distant they were after Narnia; they had been without parents so long that suddenly having them was a shock none of them could adjust too. And their parents never adjusted to the strangers they bought home. The changes Narnia brought upon them left them distant and uncomfortable around their own parents and on the worse days this makes Peter laugh. 

His siblings have been his responsibility for so long. He alone had to keep them safe. He alone was responsible for keeping them alive. 

So he sleepwalks throughout his third childhood, wandering into closets and wardrobes and his sibling’s rooms to protect them from anything that could bring harm. 

And then he gets old, and stops sleepwalking.

He stops sleeping much at all.

_(the ruins are familiar. he’s walked the halls before. all that’s left are the crumbling foundations of cair paravel, and peter looks out to the sea and thinks, ‘nothing will ever last’._

_he hates that he’s right.)_

  
  
  
  


“What do you dream of?” Susan whispers into her cup of tea, steam still rising into the air. She carefully doesn’t look at him. She’s always so careful in this life. 

“Everything.”

She doesn’t ask for details. They both know some things are better left unsaid.

  
  
  
  


There are giants. 

The fog of the early morning does little to hide their silhouettes. Peter can barely hear over the beating of his heart.

“Eight giants approaching,” says Yuulife, “What are your orders?”  
Peter looks to the centaur besides him, looks out to his soldiers, their eyes hard and determined. Their lives rest in his hand. The weight of the world is on his shoulders. The giants are slowly approaching.

He doesn’t remember what his orders were. One moment they are preparing for battle, the next, he is bringing down a giant, swinging his sword into its throat--

Yuulife loses an arm. Ganoce loses an eye. Stylla loses both her legs. So many more lose their lives.

Peter wakes up crying.

_(the clouds part as they lay the dead to rest. someone whispers: “aslan is blessing them to bring them peace in the afterlife.” peter looks out to rows of carefully lain bodies, light shining down on them, and tries not to weep. he says their names, each of their names, and silently begs for forgiveness.)_

  
  


There is a part of Lucy that is still in Narnia. She’s never fully here, always with her head in the clouds, thousands of miles from the Earth they now live in. 

“Lu,” he says quietly, bringing her attention back.

“Oh! What was the question?”

Peter looks down at her sketchbook, heart in his throat. “Who is that?”

She glances down, then smiles. “Don’t be silly, it’s Reepicheep, of course. Who else could it be?”

Who else indeed. Peter barely remembers him. Reepicheep was _Lucy’s_ friend after all. They spoke a few times but Peter was too focused on leaving Narnia to Caspian and grapple with the fact that he could never come back.

Peter thinks of his soldiers, his generals, his friends; battling giants, wounded, dead. He thinks of their fading memories, already difficult to recall after two lifetimes. Thinks of them smiling and laughing around the fire as they travelled across Narnia, Stylla singing as Ganoce and Reflus danced around the flames. Thinks of how at home he felt with them. 

He misses them so much is brings him to tears; Peter stares at the empty page in his notebook for hours, his hand shaking, before he finally brings himself to writing down Yuulife’s name.

He writes down his memories, writes down everything he remembers about his friends, and grieves a second time.

He leaves the notebook in Lucy’s room and a week later he finds his memories brought to life on paper, drawn with Lucy’s careful hands. 

Yuulife and Stylla and Ganoce and Reflus and every other soldier he remembers smiles up at him from the pages.

_(one war wasn’t enough. bombings in london and battles in narnia; peter carried too much grief for one body to bury, and stayed haunted ever since.)_

  
  
  


They never speak of Narnia out loud. Sometimes there will be an offhand mention of a name, a story, a memory, but it will disappear just as fast.

Peter never knows how much they remember. He wonders if they remember too much or too little. Wonders which would be better.

  
  
  
  


A king is more than a crown. Peter holds onto this phrase, keeps it close to his chest. It gets him through his darkest moments, when it feels like the world is falling apart and all he can do is watch. He has no power in the world, not to make the big changes that brought Narnia’s Golden Age. 

But Peter knows that a older brother will always take care of others, just as a king takes care of his subject. He keeps his head high and takes the hits in fights to protect the weak. He does his best to bring a light to the dark, to leave his door open to the lost, to save just one life.

It feels useless. Insignificant. Worthless.

Peter doesn’t stop; he never knew how to.

_(a golden lion roars. the sky behind it is so, so blue.)_

  
  
  


Peter mourns. He sees a London in the midst of being bombed and the London he spent this life in. He takes care of his siblings, and keeps going.

  
  
  


He wonders if, somewhere, Yuulife is reborn, remembering a king who wept when the battle was finished. 


End file.
